In the misty

Mystic past

There were dragons

Breathing fire

Flying o’er head

Beating their

Huge wings

With menace aforethought.

Taking what and whenever

They pleased.


E’en now

There are dragons


They fly not

Nor breathe fire

But have

Menace aplenty.

They want without


Or sharing




They preen

And prance

Collecting the loot

Of their daring.

They care not

For truth

Nor fact of any kind

Creating their

Own mystic space.

They can not

Be understood

Nor is there

A plan to deal

With them.

They are dragons

You see

With their

Own rules

And place

Among the gods.